artificial hearts
by Constance Greene
Summary: Just call on the heartmaker. — ZexionDemyx


Note.;;

This is the product of a write off ( random pairings matched with random lyrics for prompting ) with a friend. It was also timed, therefore it probably isn't as good as it should be.

KH is not mine.

**Zexion x Demyx  
**"_Give me an hour and I'll give you your dream."_

"Hey, Zexy – don'tcha ever wonder . . ."

"No."

"What happened to . . ."

"No, I don't."

"Our hearts?"

Zexion's eyebrows pinched together in the most dissatisfying way. "We don't have hearts anymore, Demyx. I believe that was stated in the joining contract of the Organization. That's why you're here – remember?"

He kept on walking. The _clack-clack_ of his boots, and the ones beside / behind him, echoed throughout the darkened hallway leading towards the basement. Demyx struggled to keep up with his fast pace. It didn't take that long – all though Number VI was going through labour pains to get away from the persistent youth, the blond had a high metabolism. You had to, if you jammed on your guitar – or, pardon me, _sitar_ – all day with bubbly enthusiasm.

"Don't be such a cynic!" Demyx chirped. "I _know_ there's something that's like . . . well, I dunno! _Special_ about us?"

Zexion stopped in his tracks, halting in front of the doorway to the basement. In less than five seconds, he'd be plunged within its chilly depths, away from Demyx ( who refused to go down there anyway – claimed there was a boogeymonster in it, or some rubbish ). He could have just teleported away from his irritator – but that would be rude, wouldn't it?

He had too keep himself from laughing. To do this, the corner of his lips twisted into a devilish smirk. He turned, and with a short staccato noise of cynicism in his throat, glinted his steely eyes at Demyx. "Yes, Demyx. Perhaps, _you're_ the only special one." Yeah; Special _Ed._

He jerked open the door and swung it closed on the gaping Organization member, who he assumed retreated upstairs to only pester another victim.

Hearts. He remembered when he had a heart . . . didn't want to, of course, but still; memories remained. Memories of him in the lab with Xehanort, Elaus, Even and the group, making artificial hearts . . . The violet-haired man brushed the palm of his hand across the cool steel surface of the lab table; yes, he remembered it very well . . .

The next day was a repeat of the last. Somehow, Zexion wasn't surprised.

"I'll prove it to you! We do too have hearts!"

"Demyx, cut it out," Axel dribbled acidly, suffering through sharing the library couch with the jubilant boy.

Zexion went away typing on his laptop, determined to ignore Demyx, who was gesturing wildly with his hands.

"Zexion, just please listen . . ." He whined when Axel had had enough and warped out of the room.

"Futile, Demyx. Please leave me alone now," Number VI replied in a low murmur, absorbing the glow of the monitor screen.

It was like that for a month. And every time, he was reminded. Of his past. Of Ienzo – him with a heart. If he had one, it'd be like a silver knife coated in ice plunging through it.

One day the obsession died down. Demyx's will seemed to evaporate, or at least deteriorate slightly, like a runner whose muscles were all used up after a big race. Zexion acted as though he didn't care in the least; even appreciated the quiet. But the boy's depressing aura tended to permeate the area, spreading the disease and infecting all those who were around him with it.

"Demyx," He asked later, unbeknownst of him why he should be doing so, "why don't you bother me as much anymore?" _What did I do?_ The dishwater-blond looked at him glumly.

"Bother you? All I ever wanted was to know if we still had hearts . . ." His shoulders drooping as they so often did recently, Demyx turned his sulking body away slightly so that it seemed to slump upright, suspended only by dangling invisible strings.

An idea of sheer rarity struck him suddenly. "Excuse me a moment; I have some matters to attend to."

"Yeah?" He asked, with no real interest in being ditched.

"Give me an hour," Zexion piped, trying to be brightened. He then escaped to his lab, leaving behind a puzzled ( yet somewhat apathetic, even though his curiosity was piqued ) Demyx.

Zexion returned and found him gone. Naturally he didn't hang around – he hadn't expected him to.

He searched through the library and found him there. He entered with his arms behind his back, and the self-acclaimed rock star raised his weary head in suspicion.

"What's that?"

Whatever he had been hiding was revealed. A glowing passion fruit-coloured heart hovered and hummed lightly, sweetly in his hands, and Demyx's eyes seemed to dance with the unbelievable light.

"I agreed that I'd give you your dream."


End file.
